Between Stars
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Story #10 With Spock back in command, the Enterprise comes upon a derelict ship. It soon becomes apparent that the aliens he rescues are even more "charming" than they first seemed. (Note: Lauren Fielding and Christine Chapel are also heavily featured in this story.)
1. Chapter 1

They were going home. With Earth less than four days distant, a gathering of friends met in the officer's lounge for a quiet celebration. Though it was Commander Uhura's birthday, there was also another cause to celebrate as this training cruise came to an end. That cause—namely, Spock—sat between Uhura and Admiral Kirk, dutifully consuming a specially fortified beverage prescribed by Doctor McCoy to add weight and rebuild endurance. And the supplement was working. Day by day the Vulcan grew so much more like his old self that one could almost forget how deathly sick he had been only a short time ago.

But Jim Kirk could not forget, nor could the other friends present— First Officer Sulu, Commanders Scott and Uhura, Doctor McCoy and his colleagues Chapel and Fielding, as well as Chief Rand. Not all of them knew the full, bitter details of Spock's recovery, but those who did appreciated his health all the more. Whenever Spock caught their eyes lingering on him, they smiled, apologetic and self-conscious, before turning aside. If it seemed that Spock was doing a little observing of his own, no one thought very much about it. At least now he was looking at Lauren Fielding, which was a welcome improvement over the cold way he had once treated the doctor. Word was out that he had recommended her for a citation.

A server filled Kirk's glass with champagne, and he accepted a slice of cake. It was nicely decorated in Uhura's honor, white inside and out, with pastel flowers on top. He watched with curiosity to see what Spock would do with his piece. As usual, the Vulcan indulged in a few small bites, carefully avoiding the icing. Several toasts were proposed, at which Spock politely sipped from his champagne, but the level in the glass scarcely dropped.

Feeling relaxed and happy, Kirk eased back in his chair and smiled across the table at McCoy. The doctor looked as proud as if the miracle of Spock's recovery had been entirely his doing, not Lauren's.

Kirk raised his glass and said, "To birthdays. To miracles. To life." Everyone responded, glasses held high, and in the midst of the toast he heard Lauren's pleasant voice. He looked at her with renewed interest.

Christine Chapel dabbed her lips with a napkin and stood up. "As much as I'd love to stay," she said, directing the words to Kirk's end of the table, "I'm afraid there's some work I need to finish." The muscles in her face visibly tightened as she turned to Lauren Fielding. "Doctor. I could use your help in sickbay."

Before the younger woman could say anything, McCoy cut in. "No need for that, Chris. I'll help you out. I have to go back, anyway."

Kirk suppressed a grin as the two walked out together. It was becoming glaringly apparent that Chris Chapel did not like the newest addition to the Medical Department. No doubt jealousy was at the root of the problem. Not only was Lauren well-liked by McCoy, the newcomer had also been assigned as Spock's personal physician, instead of Chris, when the Vulcan was quarantined on Gamma Vertas IV. And perhaps most irritating of all, Lauren alone had returned Spock from the brink of death. Everyone knew Chris had been sweet on Spock for years.

It would have been fun to stick around the Enterprise and see how things developed, but Kirk had already been away from his desk at Headquarters far too long. With Spock commanding the Enterprise again, Nogura was demanding to have his Chief of Operations back where _he_ belonged. Maybe all the fuss should have made Kirk feel useful and important, but the recent taste of starship command had left him realizing just how much he missed being a captain. No admiral's braid could ever compensate for that.

Kirk emerged from his thoughts to find Sulu leaving the table. He could not help envying the First Officer whose duties called him to the bridge. Standing, Kirk stretched his legs and excused himself for an evening of long-distance paper pushing.

ooooo

As the lounge door closed on Kirk, Uhura rose from the table, a Vulcan lyrette in hand. "How about some music?" she asked, heading for the circle of couches beside a view port.

Spock prepared to rise, fully intending to decline the invitation, but Rand was already on her feet speaking. "Nyota, I'd really love to," said the Transporter Chief, "but I can't stay. Sorry." Then she, too, was out the door.

Spock looked expectantly at Mister Scott.

"Ah, lass," Scott sighed as he pushed out of his chair. "I hate to eat and run out on ye like this, but I left a couple of trainees…"

Uhura waved him off, and Spock found himself alone with the two remaining women.

"Captain?" Uhura faced him pleadingly, the lyrette held out in invitation. "Just for a while. I sing, you play, Laurie listens."

Spock wanted to say no. He flexed his fingers, trying to find enough residual stiffness to excuse himself, but his joints moved freely. There was no physical basis for his reluctance to play, and it would not do to disappoint an old friend on her birthday.

"Very well," he said, and briefly considered mentioning that Doctor Fielding played the flute. But it was Fielding's place—not his—to volunteer such personal information.

Beaming with pleasure, Uhura maneuvered him onto a couch facing the stars and the strategically positioned audience of one. Spock was acutely aware of Lauren Fielding's presence. There was no locking her out as he once had, if indeed he ever truly had. Something in him had given way and however much he directed his mind elsewhere, a part of his attention lingered on the embarrassed young doctor. And he knew for a certainty that Lauren Fielding _was_ embarrassed, even if he did not fully comprehend why.

Uhura lit near him on the arm of the couch and began to hum a familiar melody. As she burst into song, Spock's fingers sought out the correct chords on the Vulcan instrument. His hands felt clumsy and the notes they produced sounded pale beside Uhura's rich, expressive voice, but Uhura winked at him and grinned as they finished the piece together. She applauded enthusiastically, as much for herself as for anything he had done. Another set of hands joined in clapping, and Spock ventured a direct look at Fielding. The doctor's eyes were on Uhura, outwardly bright and smiling, but with a troubling suggestion of pain in their blue depths. Golden wisps of hair had escaped from her braid. Soft-looking tendrils curled about her forehead and cheeks as if she had deliberately arranged them as a distraction. But of course she could not know that they distracted him, or how he sometimes wondered how her hair would look, worn loose and flowing about her shoulders.

"Wait," Uhura was saying, "I know just the song. Something I learned from a trader a long time ago. Spock, you remember Cyrano Jones."

Spock drew his thoughts back into line and looked at Uhura. "Ah, yes. As I recall, Mister Jones gave us a considerable amount of tribble."

Uhura leaned back and laughed so hard that tears filled her eyes. Across from her, Fielding smiled politely, obviously mystified by Uhura's attack of mirth.

"Oh, that's a good one," Uhura choked out at last. "A considerable amount of tribble!" Chuckling, she said, "Don't worry, Laurie. We're not really nuts. I'll have to explain it to you sometime."

Settling down, she hummed the trader's tune once in its entirety for Spock, and then began to sing. This new piece demanded more concentration from Spock and he paid little attention to the lyrics until the third stanza. What he heard made him distinctly uncomfortable.

 _"Oh, he knows his duty_

 _But when the golden-haired beauty_

 _Lets down her tresses_

 _He freely confesses_

 _Something warm rises in him…"_

Spock's fingers went stiff as he struggled to shut out the bawdy words and continue playing.

 _"Yes, he knows his callin'_

 _But she's such a darlin'_

 _Her skin smooth as peaches_

 _Whenever he reaches_

 _Out to pluck her and taste her…"_

Spock felt increasingly annoyed with Uhura. Did she not remember the incident at Mega Morbidus? How under an alien influence he had behaved abusively toward Doctor Fielding? Was Uhura intentionally setting out to embarrass them both? He glanced at the doctor. Her eyes were averted and she was blushing hard.

Spock put an end to the song with a single sour chord. There was laughter and he found Uhura smiling down at him from the arm of the couch. For a disconcerting instant it seemed she was, indeed, making an unseemly jest at his and Fielding's expense.

Then she said, "I guess we're kind of rusty."

"Rusty?" Spock relaxed somewhat as he recognized the slang term as a _good-humored_ _observation._ She did not realize that he had deliberately ruined the performance, or why. "You mean…out of practice."

"I mean we'd never make it as a lounge act."

A shrill whistle from the intercom broke into the conversation. "Captain Spock, this is Sulu."

Glad for the reprieve, Spock tapped his com badge and said, "Spock here."

"Sir, sorry to interrupt," came the First Officer's voice, "but we've picked up something interesting on sensors…"

ooooo

The unmarked spacecraft on the viewscreen appeared to be a derelict, once probably involved in some kind of illegal activity. From the command chair Spock studied the torpedo-shaped vessel while the bridge crew and their trainees gathered information about it. After eighteen months as captain, it was still difficult for Spock to set idly while his curiosity cried out to be satisfied in a more direct manner.

"Communications," he said.

"Still no response, sir," came a boyish, eager-sounding voice.

"Confirmed," seconded Uhura. Though officially off-duty, she had followed Spock to the bridge.

"Continue hailing." Spock permitted himself a fond look at the science station. The junior officer on duty was consulting with her trainee over the sensors. Glancing up, the trainee suddenly found herself the focus of her captain's attention.

She cleared her throat nervously. "Sir…signs of some equipment operating. Environmental support barely functional."

"I'm picking up marginal life readings." The science officer frowned down at her panel. "Very faint, Captain—a dozen or so. Unable to determine their form."

Sulu had left the helm trainee and stood beside the command chair. "The crew," he grimly suggested.

"A distinct possibility." Spock resisted an urge to study the sensors himself. Elbows resting on the arms of his chair, he steepled his fingers and eyed the battered, unidentified vessel. "Prepare an away team, Mister Sulu. You will beam over and investigate."

ooooo

At times like this, Hikaru Sulu was quite content with his position aboard ship. There was nothing quite like the thrill of beaming into the unknown, armed only with a phaser, a tricorder, and old-fashioned human intelligence. It was his one big advantage over Spock—freedom to be out here on the front lines, in charge, while Spock waited back on the Enterprise like the sensible captain that he was. Unlike Kirk, who had unnecessarily risked himself more times than probably even Spock could remember. Sulu smiled to himself. _My kind of guy, Kirk…_

His movements restricted by an environmental suit, Sulu led the way with his flashlight, probing the dark interior of the chamber they had beamed into. Their lights passed over tangles of exposed conduits and located a closed hatch.

Sulu consulted his tricorder. Though the indications of life seemed too weak to pose any direct threat, he kept his phaser ready as another man worked the hatch. Pale greenish light spilled from the opening. There was a labored hum of machinery kicking in, and an eerie vibration crawled up his feet. He froze, half expecting to be blown out of existence. But nothing exploded. Nothing rushed toward him. From the hatchway he saw glowing panels set in dingy metallic bulkheads.

"The readings are coming from in there," confirmed a team member.

Breathing again, Sulu reported through his helmet mike, "Captain, we're reached the source of the life readings. No sign of imminent danger. We're going in now."

"Proceed," Spock answered.

As Sulu entered the chamber, overhead light panels lit brightly and began to flicker. The team followed him inside and put away their flashlights. The thrum of equipment pulsed around them as they spread out to explore.

Sulu holstered his phaser and held his tricorder close to a glowing green panel. "They're here, alright," he informed the captain. "Closed up in these wall capsules, whatever they are. I'm picking up a heartbeat now, eight per minute and slowly increasing. I think—" He broke off and took an involuntary step backward as the readings began to soar. Comments from other team members reached the captain's sensitive ears.

"Mister Sulu," Spock called. "What is happening?"

A sharp hiss of released pressure made Sulu jump. All up and down the chamber the same noise was repeated as the panels cracked open and slowly hinged outward. Sulu stared, dumbfounded, at the rows of small bodies coming into view. His helmet camera should be sending an image to the bridge viewscreen.

"Captain, can you see this?"

"Affirmative, Sulu."

Sulu moved in for a closer look. How still they seemed, how frail and alien-looking in the green glow of their capsules. Captain, we're going to need a doctor over here. Better yet, a pediatrician."

ooooo

"I thought you said they were green," Uhura remarked to Sulu. Her motherly gaze took in each of the thirteen sleeping children lying on monitor beds in the sickbay ward. "They're not green at all…and they're _adorable."_

"It was the lighting," Sulu said in his defense. "That silvery Gamman skin really reflects color. But you're right, they _are_ awfully cute."

Standing apart from the two officers, Spock overheard their comments as he watched a medical team move among the beds.

"Poor little things," Uhura said. "I wonder who they are…and what happened to the crew…"

Sulu shrugged. "I don't think there ever was a crew. The ship seems to be a drone, and as far as we can tell, the shipboard computer failed—all but the revive system that our poking around set in motion."

 _Fascinating,_ Spock mused. He had sent genetic information to Gamma Vertas and was awaiting a reply. Most likely the children had been taken during a Donari raid for use in slavery and experimentation. But why place thirteen abductees into cryogenic stasis and send them out through Space?

Coming up beside him, McCoy said, "After being in stasis, it's better that they come out of it gradually like this. They should recover in about five hours. I'll have Doctor Fielding come on duty then. There's no telling how these kids will react, so I'll need someone who can communicate with them. What about you, Spock? Did you pick up much of the language when you were at St. Vincent's?"

"Not as much as I would have liked," Spock admitted. While at the Gamman mission he had been far too ill to master the mutes' two lingual forms. The sight of the children stirred painful memories of that time, yet he found himself wanting to be near them. Pushing aside the contradictory feelings, he said, "It is unfortunate that Doctor Fielding and I are the only ones aboard ship with any knowledge of their signing, but I have ordered Gamman pipes made for children and our translators programmed for the musical language."

"Well, we shouldn't have to worry about it for long," McCoy said. "Have you heard anything from Gamma Vertas yet?"

Spock moved McCoy farther away from the others and spoke in a low voice. "Not yet. Unless we can arrange a rendezvous, we will arrive there in five-point-one days."

"Five days!" McCoy grimaced. "That's ten days round trip. Nogura will be spitting mad. He wants Jim back _now."_

"Nogura will _not_ be pleased," Spock agreed in a less colorful but no doubt accurate forecast of Commander Starfleet's reaction to this latest change in plans. "But the delay is unavoidable. Admiral Kirk will agree."

"You mean Jim doesn't know yet?" With a sigh the doctor looked across the ward at his silver-hued patients.

Spock followed his gaze. The young Gammans held a curious attraction that was hard even for him to resist. Mentally pulling away, he said, "Inform me at once when they become conscious. I will be in my quarters."

ooooo

In the small hours of the morning Spock jerked awake, gasping for air, blood pounding in his ears. Rising on one elbow in the dark, he struggled to catch his breath. The nightmare panic of suffocation eased. He was not at St. Vincent's, dying. His body was free of disease. He was aboard the Enterprise, back in command.

Breathing easier, he dismissed the nightmare from his thoughts and sat up, settling his feet onto the carpeted deck. A vague uneasiness sidled back through his mind, but before he could examine it, Doctor McCoy's voice broke from the bedside intercom.

"Captain, are you up?"

He leaned over and pressed the intercom button. "Yes, Doctor."

"Good. The children are coming around fast. Laurie's already signing with a couple of them."

"Thank you, Doctor." Spock turned on the lights and reached for his clothes. "I will be on my way."

ooooo

One by one the children emerged from their long sleep, silvery eyes opening to gaze with quiet curiosity at their surroundings. Their first reaction was to smile—at the doctors and nurses examining them, at the flashing medscanners, at each other. The doctor and nurses smiled back readily, for it was a rare pleasure to have so many youngsters aboard ship, and these silver-tones Gammans were particularly charming.

Spock spent the remainder of the night moving from child to child, learning their lyrical names—names such as Raindancing, Bird-in-Flight, Cloudshadow, and Windstorm. He joined his growing knowledge of Gamman signing to that of Doctor Fielding and achieved some degree of communication, but no useful information was revealed. Finally he said to the doctor, "Either they do not know how they came to be in the drone, or they're withholding that information."

"Why would they withhold it?" Fielding said, touching the smooth cheek of the boy being questioned. Summerday grinned back at her, showing straight white rows of teeth. "Their stories match perfectly."

"Yes," Spock agreed, "rather too perfectly."

The doctor turned, eyes wide and accusing. "What do you mean by that?"

Spock's eyebrow crept upward. Since resuming command, his working relationship with Doctor Fielding had been agreeable. He had extended a special effort to make it so, acknowledging to himself that their past difficulties had been largely his fault. Perhaps, he considered, the appealing nature of the children had aroused her parental instinct. Having had some experience now as a father, he could understand—but not to the point of abandoning logic.

"Try to maintain your objectivity," he advised, not unkindly. "A truth scan will determine if they are being honest with us. And Doctor, it will not hurt them any."

Though still frowning, she nodded. "Of course, sir. You're right."

All the scan results leaned toward honesty. It could mean that Doctor Fielding's trust in the children had not been misplaced, and they were telling the truth—at least as they knew it. For now Spock kept any further doubts to himself. From a quiet corner of the ward he watched the children venture from their beds and trill messages to one another on the pipes sent up from Procurement. Minute by minute the young mutes grew livelier and more articulate. As their level of activity increased, Spock experienced a nagging sense of disquiet. Briefly closing his eyes, he attempted to follow the whisper of foreboding to its source, but the energetic children interfered with his concentration. Their shrill piping felt painful on his ears. Abandoning the effort, he walked out the door unnoticed.

ooooo

In the officers' mess, the breakfast crowd was starting to thin out. Alone now at his table, Admiral Kirk nursed a second cup of coffee that was as black as the mood stealing over him. His thoughts turned to Uhura's party last night. He was going to miss that easy comraderie, but he reminded himself that things had not been so rosy when he first came aboard at Christmas. There was more to life than the Enterprise. Once he got back to Earth, back to his work at Headquarters, his outlook would probably improve. Maybe he wouldn't miss any of this as much as he imagined.

Kirk held to that thought as the last of dayshift finished their breakfasts and the third watch began showing up for their meals. He was downing the last of his coffee when Doctor McCoy walked in with Lauren Fielding. Busy with the food dispensers, they didn't notice Kirk until their trays were filled and they turned, eyes scanning the room for a place to sit down. He motioned them over to his table, glad to have someone to talk to.

"Good morning, Admiral," Lauren said, dropping into a chair. She emptied a packet of brown sugar onto her oatmeal and began to eat hungrily.

Already seated, McCoy mumbled a greeting between bites of omelet and toast. They both looked suspiciously tired and rumpled for people about to go on duty. And come to think of it, they were late.

"Were you two up last night?" Kirk guessed.

McCoy left his fork hovering in midair and looked at him strangely. Lauren glanced from Kirk to McCoy.

"Well, just great," McCoy grumbled. "He still hasn't told you."

" _Who_ hasn't told me _what?"_

With a sigh McCoy put down his fork and proceeded to brief Kirk on all that had happened overnight. When he told the admiral about the detour to Gamma Vertas IV, there was a sudden tautness around Kirk's mouth that could have been mistaken for anger. "Hell," McCoy griped, "this was supposed to be Spock's job. If you're mad, go jump him."

Kirk loosed an unconvincing smile of regret. "It's alright, Bones. The delay can't be avoided." Settling back in his chair, he thought with genuine warmth of the marooned children whose plight guaranteed him more time aboard the Enterprise with his friends. The specter of his office at Headquarters now seemed only a pale, distant threat. "Poor little kids," he said. "What do I get to meet them?"

After their breakfast, McCoy and Fielding brought Kirk to the recreation deck. The track-gymnasium hall was a hive of noisy activity. Everywhere Kirk looked, equipment was being secured, cots set up, and children's playthings delivered. In the midst of all this commotion wandered silvery-skinned youngsters, their metallic eyes intent on everything that was happening, their cherubic faces eagerly returning smiles.

Kirk found them so charming that he stayed behind after McCoy and Fielding left. He initiated a game of catch with a lad and was soon mobbed by all thirteen Gammans. They pressed in, piping notes or signing busily in a language he did not understand. It was a relief when Doctor Chapel came to his rescue.

"Aren't they something?" she said. Her newly programmed universal translator blurted a confused stream of overlapping phrases. It, too, was overwhelmed by the exuberant din of young pipers. "If they'd just slow down and talk one at a time," Chapel lamented, rubbing at her temple as if her head hurt.

Kirk already felt the stirrings of a headache and did not envy Chapel her job as the children's daywatch supervisor.

"Children," she said loudly and distinctly, "come with me!" The translator synthesized a spurt of music that caught the youngsters' attention. They compliantly followed the doctor to another part of the hall where a trainee waited with a data padd.

Kirk turned to leave and found the rest of the gym empty now except for a lone technician making adjustments on a food dispenser. A peculiar feeling prickled the skin along his spine as he looked at the neat little row of bunks. Then, laughing at himself, he walked out.

ooooo

The sound of his doorchime broke Spock's concentration and he looked up from his computer for the first time in hours. He tried flexing the stiffness from his neck and shoulders, but some remained as an aftereffect of his illness. Rising, he pulled himself as straight as any Vulcan and said, "Come in."

Admiral Kirk entered the cabin and Spock eased into a more relaxed posture. "Jim," he said to his old friend.

Kirk grinned mischievously. "Spock, just because you miss your daughter, it doesn't mean you have to go shanghai a whole shipload of kids."

Spock did not rise to the bait. The young Gammans set his nerves on edge, and his study of their culture had revealed nothing to account for it. Were the spells another tedious result of his ordeal of Gamma Vertas IV and the addiction that followed? A new symptom, just when he was making good progress toward full recovery? "I had intended to tell you about the Gammans myself, but I became immersed in some research." He stopped, cleared his throat. "Are you also aware of our change of course?"

"Bones put me up to date. He even gave me the grand tour of the rec hall and introduced your cute little guests."

"Yes, cute," Spock said dryly. It seemed that Kirk was drawn to the youngsters, just like everyone else. Spock preferred not to discuss his personal misgivings. He was saved from having to say anything when Doctor McCoy's voice, sounding urgent, broke over the intercom.

"Sickbay to captain. You'd better come down here."

ooooo

Spock entered sickbay with Kirk at his heels. Thinking that one of the children might have fallen ill, he was unprepared when McCoy led him to a curtained-off area of the ward. Here was no Gamman, but a valued member of the Medical Section, a woman who had been part of his lives, part of all their lives, for years.

"Chapel!" The name burst from Kirk.

There was no response from the patient. Christine Chapel lay on a diagnostic bed, her eyes closed as if in sleep, her features pale and composed.

"No sign of a pathogen," McCoy reported. "All functions normal, aside from a minor shift in brain activity—but nothing to account for _this."_

Spock studied the wall monitor. Its readings were indicative of coma.

"But I was just talking to her a few minutes ago," Kirk protested. "She was on the rec deck with the children…"

 _With the children._ Spock looked sharply at McCoy.

Deep lines of worry etched the doctor's face as he said, "She was in the children's dorm area when she collapsed. A technician saw it happen. One minute she was fine, and then…"

As the three men looked at one another, Spock's sense of unease grew. "The children should be quarantined and closely observed. I will post a guard station with a monitor screen at the entrance to the hall. Everyone entering the gym must wear a field belt."

Kirk eyed him closely. "You think it's those kids?"

"I think caution is in order."

McCoy nodded and ran his fingers through his graying hair.

With the restrictions in force, Spock strapped a protective fieldbelt around his waist and entered the gymnasium. He had expected to be alone with the children and his concerns, but found Doctor Fielding drawing blood samples. For a moment he stood near the entrance watching how her gentle touch put the children at ease, and remembering the comfort of those same hands as they cared for him during his illness. But now was not the time for such thoughts. Focusing his attention on the children, he moved ahead

Doctor Fielding heard him coming and glanced up. Her eyes warmed above a brief, apologetic smile. "Captain. I'm afraid there's nothing to report yet."

He stopped beside her and was swiftly engulfed by the wave of silvery bodies. "I…did not expect any progress this soon," he assured her distractedly. The crush of children weighed on his mind with a strange, dull pressure. It was a distinctly unpleasant sensation, but by employing a Vulcan distancing technique he was able to sign a courteous greeting to the children. Then he began to question them about Doctor Chapel. Sad-eyed, they shrugged innocently and shook their heads in apparent ignorance.

Spock found their responses irritating. His head throbbed from the strain of being near them. Little by little his questions grew sharper and colder, narrowly hinting at the nebulous suspicion the Gammans aroused in him.

Pausing in her work, Fielding watched him closely. Suddenly she said, "They bother you, don't they, sir?"

Startled, Spock turned to her. The doctor's piercing blue gaze sent a pang straight through him.

"Children make you uncomfortable." Her voice took on a bit of an edge. "I'm not saying you can't be good with children. I've seen you with your daughter…and there was Windsong at St. Vincent's. Remember her? That little girl fell in love with you."

The absurd claim jolted Spock out of his silence. "Doctor Fielding, that is not—"

"But you broke her heart," she interrupted. "Don't you know that? After everything she did for you, would it have been so terrible at the end to offer her a decent goodbye?"

Spock stared at her, dumbfounded. If he had behaved improperly on that occasion, there was a reason for it. More than anyone, Doctor Fielding knew why. Whatever her purpose for bringing this up now, whether or not he had actually hurt Windsong, this conversation was entirely inappropriate. In the tone of command, he said, "You forget yourself. Tend to your duties, Lieutenant."

Her eyes flashed. "Thank you, Captain, for reminding me of my place."

ooooo

Fielding's distressing show of temper was still fresh in Spock's mind when he was called back to sickbay at midwatch. Chapel's condition was unchanged, but now another comatose woman lay nearby. Spock stared at Lauren Fielding, his features composed, his stomach leaden.

McCoy's voice was hushed with shock. "She was working with the children, wearing a fieldbelt. Everything was fine, and then… _just like Chris."_

Spock turned from the painful sight and set his mind working on the crisis.

"It's _not_ a pathogen," McCoy reiterated fiercely. "Dammit, I'm not going to rest until—" His voice broke off, his shoulders slumped. "All the anger in the world won't help those two."

"Nor will driving yourself to exhaustion," Spock pointed out. He had learned firsthand about physical frailty, and the wrench of losing a beloved friend or relative was not confined only to human culture. "You were close to Christine," he observed.

" _Were?"_ McCoy bristled at the unfortunate choice of word. "She's not gone yet, Spock. And as much as it may gripe you, neither is Laurie."


	2. Chapter 2

After dinner Spock stripped off his jacket and boots to lie on his bunk, one arm resting across his eyes. McCoy was not the only one who thought him indifferent to, perhaps even secretly pleased by, Doctor Fielding's condition. Considering his treatment of her in the past, that was not surprising. He had spoken to no one about the confusion she aroused in him. It was becoming clear that he would never resolve that confusion until he allowed himself to experience his feelings for her and examine them. But for now, the situation aboard ship demanded all his attention. Two crewmembers were down. It was his duty to ensure that nothing further happened to those under his command.

Reaching a decision, Spock sat up and triggered the bedside intercom. "Captain to Security."

"Security here," came the prompt reply. "Hanson speaking."

"Double the guard on the Gamman children," Spock ordered. "Admit no one—I repeat, _no one_ to the gymnasium without my written authorization. Make an announcement to that effect."

"Aye, Captain. Right away."

Spock lay back and listened for the announcement, but words alone could not put his mind at ease.

ooooo

Kirk sat staring at his cabin intercom long after it went silent. _So the cute little Gammans were locked up tight. Very cool, very correct, Spock, but what good will that do Chapel and Fielding now? The kids already have them…_

 _Have them?_ Taken aback by the peculiar thought, Kirk stood. The walls of the V.I.P. cabin seemed too close, too confining. Suddenly he found himself missing the wide bank of windows at his apartment back home, where he could stand gazing out over the shimmering waters of San Francisco Bay. He always felt safe there, warm and sheltered behind the glass.

 _Wait a minute,_ he thought. _What's going on here?_ Even in the worst kind of danger he had always felt safe aboard the Enterprise. But then, _he_ had been in command. He wasn't stuck on the sidelines, at the mercy of someone else's decisions—even if that someone happened to be Spock.

It was a disloyal thought and Kirk gladly pushed it aside when his doorchime rang out. "Enter," he called.

Janice Rand walked in. Her eyes and nose looked a little pink, as if she had been crying. "Sir, did you hear the announcement?" she asked. He nodded. "I was just down to see Laurie…and Chris Chapel. They're no better, and so far Doctor McCoy hasn't been able to turn up a thing." She hesitated before adding, "Do you think it really is the children? Some kind of disease they're carrying?"

"They passed through decontamination, didn't they?"

"Yeah, I beamed them in myself. They tested clean."

"Then it's not that," Kirk reassured her. "Anyway, Bones would have found a disease organism right away. It has to be something else, something…" Reaching for some new idea, he went silent.

"Admiral." Janice spoke hesitantly. "What if they're doing it with their minds?"

A chill crept over him. They had recently dealt with an unseen symbiant whose mind control raised havoc and left two crewmembers dead. "The captain has explored that possibility. Gammans aren't on record as having any telepathic ability."

"But that doesn't necessarily mean _these_ Gammans aren't telepaths. What were they doing out here in Space? Everything about them is strange."

Kirk forced a nervous smile. "Look, even if they _could_ make people go unconscious, which they can't, those kids wouldn't harm a slime worm. Just think of those little doll faces." But deep down, he was not so sure.

Frowning, she glanced away. "I know, they're adorable. Everyone says so. But it's not any slime worm that worries me—it's a friend lying in a coma."

An uneasy silence settled over the room.

Janice gave him a long, searching look. "I know I shouldn't say this, but I…I wish you were back in command."

Kirk felt embarrassed for them both, but most of all for Spock. "You're just worried," he said gently. "We all are. But you can trust Spock. He's back on his feet and he knows what he's doing."

She gave a distracted nod and left for her own cabin.

Slipping off his jacket, Kirk poured himself some Saurian brandy and sat down to think. Funny, what Janice had said. What could she have meant? Was she actually hoping he would take command away from Spock? He would _never_ do that. But all this inactivity was starting to get to him. He didn't like feeling threatened by a bunch of kids and not being able to do anything about it. All his life he had met danger head-on. Now here he was, lounging around sipping brandy while two fine women hung somewhere between life and death.

"Damn it," he muttered impatiently. "There must be _something_ I can do!"

Even as he spoke the words, a feeling of entitlement came over him. He had a _right_ to act. In actuality, it was his _duty_ to act _._ After all, he was Chief of Starfleet Operations.

Draining his glass, he plunked it down on a table and went over to his desk.

ooooo

Spock awoke suddenly, a cry for help ringing through his mind. Lying in the dark he hesitated, one hand lifted to the intercom. Perhaps it was only another nightmare. He did not want to disturb the admiral unnecessarily, but if Jim truly was in trouble…

It occurred to Spock that he no longer trusted his own inner sense. How could he command if he could not even make such a simple decision?

He called to the V.I.P. quarters. There was no response. He thought a moment and then contacted the gymnasium guard station.

"Phillips here!" snapped a tense, youthful voice.

There was a great deal of talking in the background, and the sound of hurried boot steps. Fear teased along Spock's spine like small, icy fingers. He sat up and turned on the light. "Phillips. What is happening there?"

"Sir…they're bringing out the admiral. Taking him to sickbay. He's breathing, sir. He's alive!"

Spock stared at the intercom, not wanting to believe that he had heard correctly. "Admiral Kirk was in the gym? How could that be, Phillips? He had no authorization."

The guard was slow to answer. "Begging your pardon, sir, but the admiral _did_ have authorization. I have it right here in my hand. Your signature is on it."

Angrily Spock broke the connection, then brought himself under control. Why would Jim forge an authorization to visit the Gammans in the middle of the night? Over the years he had acquired a reputation as something of a "maverick" in Starfleet, a flouter of regulations, a taker of unwarranted risks. But as Spock hurriedly dressed, he considered a far more disturbing possibility. Everyone felt unusually attracted to the children. What if his own persistent uneasiness was a reaction to some psychic force outside himself? What if that same force was now reaching beyond the gymnasium to draw in more victims?

Spock fastened his jacket and started for the door. After only two steps he came to a halt. Compressing his lips in annoyance, he went back for his socks and boots.

ooooo

Kirk was in sickbay when Spock arrived. A medical team surrounded the unconscious admiral, stripping away clothes, operating scanners, interpreting data. Spock stood aside, waiting for the activity around Kirk to subside. Several minutes passed before McCoy noticed him. The grim-faced doctor dropped what he was doing and stalked over.

"Why the _hell_ did you let him go in there?" McCoy said through his teeth.

Keeping a firm grip on his own emotions, Spock explained what he knew of the situation, including his untested theory of a non-physical threat. Only then did he allow his concern for Jim to surface. "Doctor, the admiral. How is he?"

"Comatose," McCoy said bitterly, "same as the others. I don't know what to do for him—or any of them. It's as if they've retreated completely out of reach."

Spock looked over at Kirk on the diagnostic bed. He seemed as still and lifeless as a corpse. A few feet away, Chapel and Fielding lay in the same condition. "Doctor," he said quietly, "there may be a way to reach them. If in fact we are dealing with a psychic force, it may be the only way."

Understanding dawned in McCoy's eyes. "You don't mean a meld. Spock, are you strong enough?"

"I don't know," Spock said frankly. Joining with another mind was taxing, even in the best of health, and with a fully cooperative subject. "If I approach it cautiously there should be no damage."

McCoy shook his head in doubt. "Spock, you may be in good enough shape to command a starship, but this is another thing entirely. I'm not sure I can allow it."

But Spock's mind was already set. Flexing his fingers at his sides, he tossed about for some way of gaining the medical chief's consent. "Chapel and Fielding. You have been monitoring them now for several hours. Have you detected any change at all in their condition?"

"Well…" McCoy glanced over at the women, pain evident in his eyes. "Yes…I suppose they have drifted a little deeper."

"You suppose? Either they have or they haven't."

Bleakly McCoy admitted, "They have."

"And it can be assumed that Jim will do likewise."

"Yes, one might assume—but Spock—" The doctor tossed up his hands in defeat. "Oh, go on ahead. One way or another you'll do it anyhow. It might as well be with me here to pick up the pieces."

A curtain was drawn around Kirk, the attendants sent away. Spock's fingers trembled slightly, betraying his tension as he arranged them over the admiral's face. Jim's skin felt cool, but alive. And Spock wondered, _will I be able to meld? What if the sickness also took this from me? Never again to reach out of myself and join with another…_

For a terrible moment the thought of failing paralyzed him. Then he closed his eyes and let his mind flow outward…

 _Jim?_

No answer. Nothing seemed to be there. Then, faintly, Spock sensed a distant presence. He attempted to delve deeper, but met resistance.

 _Jim! Come here to me!_

Emptiness swallowed his call. And once again, something was there, moving. Then…gone.

Spock withdrew and stood gathering his thoughts while McCoy loosed a stream of questions. "What happened? Did you reach Jim? Are you alright? Well, for Pete's sake, talk to me!"

At last Spock said, "It was not Jim. I don't know _what_ it was." He walked over to Doctor Chapel, considered entering her mind, but moved on to Doctor Fielding's bed and gazed down at her pallid face. The possibility of joining with either woman's thoughts made him uncomfortable, though for very different reasons. He turned away knowing what he must do while there was a chance to save them. "It is no use looking here any further."

"Okay…" McCoy said slowly. "And praytell, where do you intend to look?"

At Spock's silence a storm abruptly gathered in the steely human eyes. "Now just one cottonpickin' minute!" McCoy erupted. "You're not going in with those kids. Dammit, you'll end up just like these others."

Spock found it uncanny, how the Doctor McCoy sometimes read him. McCoy knew he could not lie…outright. "Doctor, calm yourself," he said soothingly. "I have not said anything of the kind."

McCoy stepped closer and peered into Spock's face. "Go ahead, look me in the eye and say you're not going to…and maybe even try to mix minds."

Spock did not attempt to hold the doctor's gaze. "I have no time for this," he said impatiently and walked out the door. It would have been best to let the matter drop for a while in order to allay McCoy's suspicion, but Spock felt pressured to act quickly. As he strode through the corridors he questioned himself. _Am I being influenced by the Gammans? By blind emotion?_ It occurred to him that he should take time to meditate and be sure of his motivations. But upon reaching his cabin, the call to action was even more urgent and he convinced himself that he must meet the threat head-on, immediately.

He quickly made an entry in the captain's log describing what he was about to do and why. Though he could have awakened Sulu and briefed him directly, he did not want to face the objections of his second-in-command. Then he was out the door, moving silently toward the turbolift. A sudden commotion disturbed the early morning quiet of deck five. A cabin door opening, hurried footsteps.

"Spock!" The startling shout rang out. Turning, Spock stiffened at the sight of McCoy rushing toward him, a half-dressed Sulu nor far behind.

McCoy saw the turbolift arrive and broke into a run. "Wait for us!" he panted.

Spock quickly entered the lift, ordered the doors to close, and watched them slide shut in the doctor's indignant face. Alone in the rushing car, he succumbed to the growing weariness of the past twenty-four hours—the mounting tension and self-doubt, the unvoiced grief—and yes, the anger. Tightly gripping the handrail, he thought, _Jim, if you had come to me, I would have willingly stepped aside in this crisis, I would have willingly stood_ _at your side_ _. Instead, you took matters into your own hands…_

The lift changed direction and the shaft lamps flickered past in a horizontal rush. Almost there—and he, not Jim, commanded. The Enterprise was his, along with all the responsibility for its crew, the trainees, and young Gamman passengers. He _must_ act now, while the children were still aboard ship, at least nominally under his control.

The turbolift came to a stop and the doors slid aside. Spock stepped into the recreation deck's main lobby. Two men stood guard at the sealed gymnasium entrance. Hurrying to the station, he gave his instructions. "Re-engage the lock as soon as I pass through. Allow me fifteen minutes. If I am not back by then, even though everything appears normal on your monitor, consider it a medical emergency."

There was a hiss of doors opening behind him.

"Spock!" McCoy's angry cry reverberated through the lobby. "Spock, for the love of God, wait up!"

Spock entered the gym without looking back.

As the locking mechanism engaged, he repressed a cold prickle of foreboding and turned up the lights. For a long moment he surveyed the makeshift dormitory and play area. Though it was still ship's night, the children were not in their cots, nor were they out playing. To all appearances the hall was deserted, but Spock knew otherwise.

They were only hiding. Behind the food dispenser and athletic equipment, inside the changing corridor and fabricator booth lurked thirteen young Gammans. Their nearness tickled the fringes of Spock's mind.

In a far corner, a ball bounced and rolled into sight. A Gamman pipe sounded, small feet scampered, and then all was quiet again. Steeling himself, Spock set out toward the disturbance, stepping with caution over toys as he worked to strengthen his mental barriers.

Something moved nearby. Spock whirled and a small projectile struck his chest. The painless impact brought a chorus of shrill music that grew in volume and abruptly stopped.

Spock dove behind the food dispenser and caught Bird-in-Flight. The unresisting boy grinned up at him, all silvery eyes and tousled hair, radiating an aura of innocence that made Spock's grip on the child's shirt seem foolish. Other children crept out of hiding and encircled him. Raising pipes to their lips, they began to play a haunting musical language.

As Spock listened, picking out words, he released his hold on Bird-in-Flight. His mind began to drift and he could not seem to stop it. The rising notes carried him higher, higher, away from the Enterprise and all its concerns. For a long time he floated somewhere this side of sleep, somewhere pleasant and very restful…but deep in his mind there stirred a half-hearted reproach.

 _Spock. What are you doing?_

 _Nothing._ Almost smiling at the thought, he stretched lazily.

 _Spock,_ snapped the inner voice, _get to work!_

The authoritative words shook Spock to the center of his being. With a thrill of shame, he jerked awake. His heart thudding, he sat up expecting to find Father standing over him, eyes black with disapproval. Instead he found himself alone on the floor of the Enterprise gymnasium.

Why had he thought of Sarek? Why was he lying here? He looked around in confusion. The Gammans had run off to other games, happily chasing each other across the vast room like silver khree pups. Their playful pipe trills beckoned to him and he badly wanted to follow…

 _No. He must not._ Putting his hands over his ears, he tried to shut out the sound of their flutes. _He felt so…different._ With a stirring of nameless dread he brought his fingers down lower and touched smooth, baby-soft cheeks. He froze…then pulled his hands away and stared at them. Slowly he moved his eyes over the rest of his body, noticing for the first time what he was wearing. Beneath the long Vulcan tunic and leggings, his skin prickled. _Impossible!_

Spock leapt to his feet, but the horror would not dislodge. It clung tightly to his juvenile clothing, to the frightened boyish body underneath. Glancing up, he saw others, their eyes as wide open and staring as his own. And he knew them immediately, however much the logical portion of his mind protested. There _was_ no logic in this moment—only emotion. Relief, regret, bitter embarrassment.

"Spock," said the admiral—the belligerent-looking boy in play clothes who would someday be admiral. Young Jim Kirk blushed at the ineffectual sound of his own voice, but carried on in soprano. "Spock, what are _you_ doing here?"

Spock experienced a rush of anger. "You are the one who acted against orders. _My_ orders!" He tried pitching his voice lower. "You entered without authorization. You _forged_ my signature!"

"It wasn't my fault," Jim shot back. "The Gammans made me do it. And besides, I outrank you." Hazel eyes blazing, he taunted, "I'll _always_ outrank you!"

Spock became aware of Christine watching, poised to intervene. A second fair-haired girl stepped in front of young Kirk and said, "Stop it, _please._ Fighting won't do any good."

Spock looked at the thin straight line parting Lauren's braids and the sense of unreality almost overwhelmed him. But the threat in Jim's eyes was very real and touched off something primitive inside Spock. He did not like having his authority ignored, and he did not like being insulted. Taking a stop closer, he said, "Jim. You forget that I am in command of this ship."

Jim pushed Lauren aside and launched himself at Spock. The impact dropped them to the deck and they began pummeling one another. As the Gammans came running, Christine and Lauren tried unsuccessfully to pull the two boys apart.

"Do something!" Lauren begged the aliens, but they hung back, wide-eyed and silent as the tussle continued.

Spock was on top now. Catching hold of Jim's wrists, he initiated a Vulcan wrestling move that flipped the boy and pinned him to the deck.

"Let go of me!" Jim hissed.

Spock easily held him. "If I am not mistaken, this is where you say 'uncle'."

"This is where I say 'go to hell'," Jim groaned, but he was clearly beaten.

After a moment Spock released him and stood wiping the blood from his nose. The frustrated human boy climbed to his feet and ran to the changing corridor. No one followed. With the fight at an end, the Gammans lost interest and straggled off to other amusements.

Lauren fetched a wet towel, but Christine snatched it away from her and said, "I'll tend to Spock. Why don't you check on the little admiral?"

"I'll tend to myself," Spock said. Taking the towel, he wiped his face while Lauren glared at her nemesis.

Christine's eyes were on Spock and she was smiling. "Well, I guess you showed _him."_

Spock frowned and walked away. What he had shown all of them was a lack of control. Finding a quiet corner, he sat on the floor, wrapped in his private pain. What had become of him—of them all? Clearly they had passed into some other reality—their bodies comatose in sickbay, yet touching, feeling, and reasoning here in an interworld known only to themselves and the Gamman children. If they were visible to the crew, their presence would have been apparent on the monitor. No, they could not expect any help from the Enterprise. Alone, he nursed his bruises and watched the Gammans wreak havoc in yet another game of chase. Around and around they scrambled, upsetting furniture and leaping over pommel horses.

Suddenly they swarmed toward him like restless bees. Spock rose and braced himself. An arm's length away, the silvery rush of bodies came to a halt, but an unseen force plunged onward, driving sharp little wedges into his mind. For a tortuous moment he endured their intrusive onslaught, then the children withdrew and scampered away. Shaky from the rough probing, Spock sank back to the floor.

Across the room Christine and Lauren stood watching. Lauren bit her lip as the Gammans left Spock and chased one another down the gym. "Something's wrong with him. The children did something." Before Christine could comment, Lauren set off. As she approached the Vulcan, Christine close on her heels, a subdued Jim Kirk emerged from his hideaway.

Jim came to stand before Spock. When Spock raised his battered face, Jim grimaced guiltily and averted his eyes. "Okay…you're in charge."

Young Spock observed the human's discomfort with childish satisfaction. "Are you certain?" The dry words reeked of sarcasm. "You _do_ hold the higher rank, admiral. Perhaps under the circumstances…"

"No!" Jim's eyes found him and his fingers balled into fists. " _You're_ captain of the Enterprise."

Spock coolly glanced at everyone, then down at himself. "I do not think, at this point, that _either_ of us qualify."

There was a girlish giggle.

"Maybe not," Jim agreed, "but we have to stick together."

The pain of Jim's attack was fresh in Spock's mind. It was with a sense of acknowledging a very shaky truce that he finally nodded. He did not know what to expect from the youthful Kirk in this nightmarish dimension. He did not even know what to expect from himself.

ooooo

"So," McCoy said, "it's down to you." He stood to one side as Commander Sulu—acting captain of the Enterprise—walked a slow path from bed to bed. _Chapel, Fielding, Kirk, and now Spock._

Sulu backtracked to Admiral Kirk and wondered aloud, "What would _he_ do?"

" _He_ already did it," McCoy said testily. "They all did—and look where they are now. Flat on their backs. So help me, Sulu, if _you're_ thinking about going in there next…"

The commander turned and fixed McCoy with his dark eyes. "Absolutely not. _No_ one else is going to enter that rec hall for _any_ reason. The captain made that very clear in the instructions he left."

"Which of course _he_ didn't follow."

For that, Sulu had no response, but McCoy let himself relax a bit. "Well, I'm glad you plan on staying put. Now all we have to do is figure out what the hell happened…and how to fix it."

ooooo

The youthful "crew" gathered at a table hoping to sift through their small store of facts and find answers to the questions plaguing them. Soon after the four children took seats, the ever-active Gammans made playful runs in their direction. For Spock, the antics were far from amusing. Each time a Gamman came near, he visibly tensed.

It was not long before Christine noticed and said, "Spock, you're scared of them, aren't you? I can see it on your face."

"Why don't you leave him alone?" Lauren flared.

"Make me!" Christine rose partway from her chair.

Jim intervened before another fight developed. "Anyone in their right mind would be afraid. Look what they've done to us."

"But _we_ aren't cringing," Christine said with a toss of her blonde head.

Lauren sat quietly beside the Vulcan. Sensing his humiliation from Christine's remarks and Jim's clumsy defense, she touched his arm. "Spock we can't help noticing how the Gammans drain you. As your shipmates, as your friends, we need to know if…" Her voice trailed off.

"If I am a 'weak link'?" Spock stared hard at her fingers but did not pull away from the touch, or the sense of concern it imparted.

"No," Lauren said, "that's not what I meant. But you have telepathic abilities…"

Another Gamman skipped by, and Spock closed his eyes against the tiresome intrusion, against Jim's turbulent feelings, against Christine's jealousy and his own roiling emotions. He felt himself starting to sweat. How he had always struggled to hide that telling moisture from the dry-skinned Vulcan children. How he had despised their taunts of 'Earther'…and his own mixed blood.

"Lauren's right," Jim broke in. "Tell us what's going on."

"Before another of those little monsters come running," said Lauren.

Spock looked at her, and at Jim. There was no logic, after all, in remaining silent—no logic in this fierce, solitary pride that only set him further apart. "Very well," he said scarcely above a whisper. "The Gammans seem to use my telepathic ability as a channel into my mind. I have difficulty blocking them."

Jim considered. "Then…if they can get past your mental shields…that means they lured _you_ in here, too?"

Part of Spock hoped Jim had not really been lured, that he was only employing a human deceit to cover his guilt, that the children's power could not reach beyond the gymnasium and continue pulling others in. But it was, at best, a faint hope. Searching Jim's face, he said, "I felt the decision was mine, but it is quite possible that I, too, was influenced by the Gammans."

A discouraged silence settled over the group. Spock felt Christine staring at him, and turned to watch the alien children at play. After a while he said, "The Gammans are not a telepathic race, yet _these_ children—"

"Behave just like little Vulcans?" taunted Christine. "Pompous little Vulcan brats?"

Spock swung around in the chair, but the hot retort was swept from his mind by a fresh wave of psychic pain. He clutched his head.

"That does it!" growled Jim. Shouting and brandishing his fists, he burst onto the deck and the pack of Gammans scattered. For a moment the gym seemed empty, but as Jim slipped back into his seat, a rising hum from the changing corridor revealed the latest mischief. The tireless Gammans had learned how to operate the fabricators. Jim glowered. "Listen to that! They're going to tear the whole ship apart!"

Spock found himself more concerned about their own volatile emotions, than the fabricators. Quietly he said, "The fabricators will provide them with a distraction. In the meantime I suggest we put this respite to good use."

Jim nodded. "So Gammans aren't supposed to have any special mental powers."

Christine made an impatient noise. "Well, obviously they _do_!"

"And they're real children," said Lauren. "What about us? Do we even exist? We're not hungry, we're not thirsty, we don't sleep. Christine and I screamed ourselves hoarse any time we saw anyone. We tried the intercom, pounded on doors, pounded on _people_. They didn't react one bit."

"Yet the Gammans can see us and touch us," Jim added. "What the heck are we? Spirits?"

Spock cast him a scornful glance. "Must humans interject spirituality into every situation?"

"Well, if _you_ know so much," Jim sneered, "give us the benefit of your superior brainpower. Where are we? And how do we get back?"

There was a swishing sound on the deck. All thirteen Gammans swathed in oversized bits of uniforms padded barefoot to the children's table. Instinctively Spock tensed, but for once the Gammans seemed interested in something other than his mind.

"What do you want?" Jim demanded nervously. A Gamman girl caught hold of his hand and tugged, but Jim stayed in his chair. "No! Say what you want!" Remembering that the mutes could neither understand him nor respond in a way he could understand, he said, "Spock, talk to them!"

Before Spock could raise his hands to sign, the smiling Gammans swept over and grabbed him and Lauren from their seats. More Gammans seized Jim. Christine screamed as she, too, was captured and dragged along with the others. Only Spock put up no struggle. The Vulcan, whom Jim would have expected to deliver a few good nerve pinches.

One of the children signed and Spock said, "They want to play."

"Then _you_ play with them," Jim shot back. "I've got better things to do."

"Jim," Spock said reasonably, "we should not pass up any opportunity for communication."

The Gammans let go and crowded around them, their silvery eyes luminous with excitement. Jim turned on them, fists raised and ready. " _I'll_ communicate with the little creeps."

" _No!"_ Spock ordered. "Do nothing to antagonize them!"

Jim whirled on the Vulcan and shoved him hard. "You coward!"

Abruptly Spock strode away, but there was no escaping the fierce anger inside him. He did not want to lose control again.

Jim took off, closely dogging him, jeering. "What's the matter? Did I bruise your nonexistent feelings? Come on, turn around, face me!"

Lauren rushed up behind the boy-admiral and gave him a push. "Leave Spock alone, do you hear?"

Jim was whirling around to retaliate when Spock came to a halt and turned on them both. "Girl," he shouted, "I do not need your help! I do not need any of you Earthers!"

As Spock bolted, Jim yelled after him, "Oh yeah? Well, we don't need you, either, you…you freak!" For an instant Spock's stride seemed to falter and Jim found himself hoping the Vulcan _would_ face him again, just long enough for him to say, _wait…I didn't really mean it._ But Spock kept going.

ooooo

"Okay, this is what I've got so far." McCoy displayed two sets of brainwave patterns on his computer screen. "See any similarity?"

Sulu leaned in for a closer look. "Not a bit."

"The top ones belong to the Gammans—I scanned them when they came aboard. Those on the bottom are from the most recent crew physicals. Kirk, Spock (you can tell his is a little different), Chapel, and Fielding. Now look. I'm going to add a third set—new readings I took from them just today."

Sulu frowned at the screen and whistled. "Even I can see that, and I'm no doctor. Those brainwaves look almost Gamman."

"It's as if those kids have plugged into them." For the first time McCoy felt hopeful, but there was still a decision that needed to be made. Looking at Sulu, he asked, "Are you hungry?"

With a nod, Sulu straightened. "Famished."

"Let's get some food and talk."


	3. Chapter 3

Lauren found Spock huddled near a viewport, staring out at the delirious jumble of warp space. "I'm sorry," she said to his rigid back. The fabric of his tunic stretched a bit tighter. "Spock…I…

"You have no reason to apologize," he said, eyes locked on the steelglass pane. "Go away. Please."

Lauren didn't move. "I know you can take care of yourself. It's just that Jim made me so mad, I had to do something."

Spock turned his head and looked up at her. "Why do you concern yourself with me?"

He watched a flush spread over her cheeks and was confounded by feelings he did not fully understand. That other, elder, self with his adult concerns seemed rather distant now. Moment by moment he sensed his connection with maturity fading. How long would it be until he lost all contact with Spock the captain and became irrevocably trapped in this false childhood? The thought brought him to his feet with fresh resolve. "We must find the others," he said to Lauren. "It is vital that we keep reminding ourselves of who we really are."

 _Freaks and Earthers?_ Lauren was tempted to ask. Though Spock had not apologized to her, she fought down a stirring of resentment and followed him.

When they found Christine, she coolly looked them over. "You two been off kissing in the corner? Go ahead, he's all yours, kid—for what he's worth."

Lauren went hot with embarrassment. "Chris, don't. We have to stop bickering. We have to stop behaving like…like a bunch of children."

"But that's exactly what we are! All of us, even Junior Vulcan here."

Spock experienced a fresh surge of anger that set his teeth on edge. "You had better learn to control your mouth!"

"Oh no," she moaned, rolling her eyes in mock terror, "I'm so scared! Save me, someone! Save me!"

Spock looked ready to strike her. Afraid of what might happen, Lauren pulled hard on his arm. "Come on, let's go look for Jim."

Slowly the anger went out of him. By the time they entered the changing corridor, Spock was back in control of himself. A hum emanated from the fabricator. Though there were no Gammans in sight, he approached the booth warily. He never used the machines, preferring his clothes ready made. But Kirk had been fascinated by these new additions to the Enterprise.

"Jim?" he called out.

Somewhere inside the booth a circuit closed and the cycle whined to an end. The door opened and a disappointed-looking boy stepped out, still wearing play clothes. Jim's eyes settled on Spock. "It wouldn't make me a uniform."

"Not surprising," Spock said. "The machine could not detect your presence. It is as if—"

A shrill burst of laughter drowned out his words. Christine sagged in the doorway. "Oh, the little admiral wanted his uniform!"

Jim's lips were curling in boyish rage when a flash of silvery skin drew Spock's attention…and strengthened his resolve. Moving to Jim's side, he regarded Christine severely. "No, you will not laugh. Perhaps if we dressed as officers, we would be more inclined to act the part."

Christine shrugged. "It _might_ be fun to dress up…"

"Sit down, everyone," Spock ordered. When they had settled on the floor he said, "There may be little time, so I will not waste it with apologies or recriminations. I ask you instead to examine our recent behavior."

"Examine your own," mumbled Christine.

Holding onto his patience, Spock continued. "We have been living in almost constant turmoil. Does that not strike you as excessive…even considering our circumstances?"

Jim leaned forward. "Are you suggesting that the Gammans are pitting us against one another?"

"Precisely."

Jim and Lauren were thoughtful, but Christine eyed the Vulcan with contempt. "Oh yeah, blame the Gammans. You just can't admit you've done anything wrong." She cocked her head in Lauren's direction. "That you and her might be less than perfect, maybe even—"

Without a thought Spock lunged toward her and his fingers locked onto a blonde curl. Christine screamed in pain and began sobbing. Young Spock looked at the hysterical girl, at the uprooted hair clutched in his hand, at the curious Gammans standing nearby. Hot with shame he opened his fist, but the forlorn strands stuck to his sweaty palm.

Lauren sprang to her feet and rushed the alien children. "Go away! Get out of here!" The Gammans scattered, but Lauren's face clouded as she rejoined her companions. "Well," she said in a shaky voice, "that certainly proves something."

"It proves Spock is a brat!" sobbed Christine.

Scowling, Jim said, "That's a little like the pot calling the kettle black."

Spock roused himself to consider the apparent irrelevancy. Obviously the words were not meant as a compliment. Christine's tears were coming even harder. The sound of her incessant whimpering made him want to slap her. With a sense of disgust, he brushed her hair from his hand.

Christine pointed her finger at him. "Spock must stand for discipline! A court of discipline!"

"Then he'll have to wait in line," Lauren said, "behind those thirteen Gammans and all the rest of us. Can't you see it's true? Those kids are just using us."

Christine was rubbing her head when a whistle shrilled over the gym intercoms. Hopefully the four children turned and listened, but instead of a voice they heard musical notes from a universal translator.

"What's it about?" asked Jim.

Spock waited until the music came to and end. "It seems that a Gamman ship has been dispatched to meet the Enterprise."

"The rendezvous is sometime tomorrow," Lauren added.

"That's good news, isn't it?" Christine said hopefully. "Once the Gammans are gone, we'll probably go back to normal."

"That is a possibility," Spock solemnly agreed, "but consider this. Since the Gammans put us into this state, our return may likewise require some specific action on their part."

Lauren's young face paled. "Then we have to do something now, while they're still aboard ship."

"A battle plan," Jim said decisively, "that's what we need."

Lauren flared. "With you it's always about fighting, isn't it? Spock said not to pressure them."

"I can speak for myself," Spock said in annoyance.

With an impatient wave of his arms, Jim said, "We can't just sit around here hoping for some kind of miracle when the Gamman ship gets here. But okay Spock, what do _you_ suggest?"

"You said it yourself, Jim. _Talk_ to them."

Christine objected. "But Jim and I don't know the language—only you and Lauren do. How convenient."

Lauren exploded. "You sarcastic little—"

"Enough!" Spock shouted. "That's enough from all of you!"

Jim's face reddened. Rising to his feet, he looked down on the Vulcan, eyes narrowed and intimidating.

"Sit down," Spock said to him.

"I don't have to do what you say!" Jim shot back.

"You _will_ sit back down," Spock repeated levelly. "You _will_ remember what is happening here and what we are trying to accomplish."

There was a trill of a pipe nearby, and children's feet running.

"He's right," Christine said quietly, surprising everyone. "It's _them._ The Gammans are doing it to us again."

With a hopeless sigh Lauren declared, "We're never going to get out of this. We'll just go on arguing and squabbling, until…"

The anger drained out of Jim and he sank to the floor.

Silence descended. Not a footstep, not a flute.

In a low voice Spock said, "Since these Gammans are exhibiting unnatural characteristics, they have likely been altered by the Donari, intended for use as weapons against their home world. I suspect that their drone was en route to Gamma Vertas IV when its programming failed."

Jim turned and found silver eyes peeking into the changing corridor. Rising to his feet, he tucked in his shirt.

"What are you going to do?" Spock asked him.

Jim smiled at the Vulcan. "Communicate—with your permission, Captain. Lauren can translate." Assuming an aggressive stance, he shouted at the Gamman, "Your people will be here soon, but our people won't hand you over unless you release us." In an aside to Spock, he muttered, "I can lie better than you. These are just kids, after all. They might believe it this bull."

Spock gave Lauren a nod of approval. Standing, she began to sign.

Raindancing warily moved closer, and now other Gammans were appearing. Eyes wide open, she signed, {I can't}.

Spock got up and signed, {Yes, you can. Do not be afraid. No one will punish you. Our people will keep you safe. They will let you go home.}

"What are you telling them?" Jim demanded impatiently.

Lauren shushed him and he scowled at her. The air seemed to quiver with an expectant silence. Gathering her courage, she moved toward the Gammans. No one tried to stop her. Blue eyes to silver, they stared at one another. Lauren no longer felt any anger toward the young aliens, only compassion and a driving need for normalcy, for home. This was something they all understood. Her hands formed a simple plea. {Just let us go. You _can_ do it. Then we can all go home.}

There was nothing more to say

The Gammans' attention fixed on their apparent leader. His hands briefly moved.

White to the lips, Lauren turned and slowly walked back to her companions. In a shaky voice she said, "They don't know how."

ooooo

"Doctor McCoy." A woman's voice filtered into a dim, troubled dream. "Doctor."

Barely awake, McCoy gasped "Chris!" and adjusted his lounge chair to an upright position. The aroma of hot coffee greeted him. Blinking, he found not Christine Chapel but Janice Rand in his office, holding out his mug. "Jan," he muttered groggily. "I thought you were Chapel."

"Sorry." Rand put the mug in his hands. "You left word for someone to wake you. I was out there with…with Laurie and the others, hoping for some kind of news."

McCoy sipped the coffee. His eyes widened at the pleasant afterglow that warmed him all the way down to his toenails. "Who made this?"

Rand gave him a guilty look. "That all depends…"

"Janice deah," McCoy said in his best southern drawl, "have you evah considered a career in medicine?"

There was a sharp rap on the office door. "Doctor McCoy?" A nurse peered at him through the glass. McCoy waved her inside and she reported, "Commander Sulu says everything's ready. He's starting."

Heart plummeting, McCoy dumped the mug on his desk and rushed out into the ward. His four patients looked like bodies at a morgue.

ooooo

Gradually the dark diminished and with a dreamy shred of awareness, Spock thought, _I must be sleeping._

It felt good. A part of him sorely needed the rest, but he sensed that he had already been in bed too long and there was some sort of work to be done, important work. Coming awake, he opened his eyes. Squinting against an uncomfortably bright light, he attempted to sit up. Nearby a medical alarm sounded. A wave of dizziness made him sink back on the pillow, but only for a moment. Driven by a nameless urgency, he swung his legs off the bed and stood, only to be seized by Doctor McCoy and a male nurse. With a shock, Spock realized he was in sickbay.

"Oh no you don't," cried the doctor. "I'll decide if and when you get out of that bed."

Too disoriented to protest, Spock glanced around the ward at the stark unadorned walls, at nurses clustered near three other beds, at Kirk and Fielding and Chapel lying deathly still. Then he remembered. "The others," he managed to say, "are they…"

"They're coming out of it, too," McCoy assured him. "Now _lie down."_

Spock let himself be helped onto the bed, but he remained sitting while McCoy examined him with a medscanner. "Doctor, the children…"

"Wait till you see what they were doing to your brains. Sulu knocked the darlings out with gas. Speaking of which…" He tapped his com badge and said, "Sickbay to Sulu. You have your captain back." He returned his attention to Spock. "Well, you don't seem to be any worse off from the adventure."

Spock briefly explained his theory of Donari involvement and warned, "The children might suffer ill-effects from the separation of our minds. Send in a medical team once the gas clears. Keep the Gammans unconscious, but closely monitored." He glanced down at his sickbay pajamas. "And now, Doctor, if you will bring my clothes."

Perhaps McCoy saw that Spock was functioning well enough, or else he was too weary to offer any further resistance. Muttering under his breath, he fetched the captain's uniform and moved on to his more cooperative human patients.

ooooo

Four pillars of energy coalesced on the transporter platform. A young woman appeared, her smooth metallic-looking skin aglow in the light. On either side of her stood a Gamman male, both well past their prime as evidenced by the darkened streaks of hair at their temples.

Spock was unprepared for the sight of his fourth guest, a lanky human male clothed entirely in white. Father Laurence Fielding gave a curt nod of recognition as he hopped off the platform. "Captain. How's my sister? Can I see her?"

"Your sister is recovering," Spock coolly replied. The Reverend Fielding had granted him asylum at the mission on Gamma Vertas IV, but intertwined among the pain-clouded memories of that time was a subtle dislike for the priest. As the reaction had no discernable basis in logic, Spock worked to repress it.

Spock put Sulu in charge of the Gammans and personally escorted Reverend Fielding to sickbay. There, they found all three patients fully conscious. Spock stopped a short distance away and looked at Admiral Kirk, at Doctor Chapel, and last of all at Doctor Fielding, letting his gaze linger on her.

A sudden smile broke over her face, a wonderfully warm look of human delight. Reaching out with one hand, she said, "Larry!"

Reverend Fielding hurried to her bedside and gave his twin sister a fully reciprocated embrace. The sound of their animated conversation and easy laughter rekindled Spock's aversion to the priest, and suddenly he understood why…and turned away before anyone could see the startlement in his eyes—or the jealousy. _The man is her brother. I have no claim on her affection. She is not mine—_ but the thought came, unbidden— _yet._

"Spock." It was Kirk's voice. "Come here."

Spock recovered his composure and went over to the admiral. "Jim. How are you feeling?"

"Glad to be back." Kirk searched his face. "Spock…I don't know why I went into the gym…I don't know what I was thinking…but I've had the strangest dreams. What about you?"

Wondering, Spock looked him in the eye. "Strange, indeed."

ooooo

Evening arrived quietly aboard the Enterprise. Footsteps seemed muted as crewmembers walked through the corridors after dinner, talking little. In sickbay the sense of hush was even more tangible as medical personnel moved among thirteen beds.

At one end of the ward Spock paused from his fruitless computer research and sat back in his chair. It was becoming increasingly evident that there would be no saving breakthrough from the ship's store of knowledge, from the staff, or from their adult Gamman guests. The problem was not one of keeping the children asleep, but rather the opposite. Spock watched as his dire prediction unfolded and the young Gammans slipped ever deeper into comas.

Rising, he walked over to the nearest bed. A dark intimation of Raindancing's decline reached his shielded mind. She was not much younger than his daughter, T'Beth. With a stirring of guilt Spock seemed to remember a promise. _We will keep you all safe._

McCoy came up close beside him, clearly discouraged. "It's not a reaction to the gas. It's almost as if…as if these kids are killing themselves."

"It may well be," Spock agreed. "If the children were altered for a task they can no longer perform, they could be breaking down…rather like computers in conflict with their programming."

A figure in white came to Raindancing's side and assumed an attitude of prayerful concentration. Spock distanced himself from Laurence Fielding and leaning against a wall, gazed over the ward. McCoy followed, his red-rimmed eyes hawk-like. "I should never have let you out of bed. Go get some rest, Captain. That's an order."

Spock did not even attempt to straighten. "If anyone is in danger of collapsing, Doctor, it is you. The past days have been fraught with medical crises, most of which you have handled personally due to understaffing, no doubt foregoing proper sleep and proper food while assaulting your system with untold quantities of caffeinated beverages—"

"Alright, alright." McCoy tossed up his hands in surrender. "At least if one of us drops, we won't be far from a bed—if there's still one available around here."

"There is now."

Spock revived at the sound of Lauren Fielding. Turning, he stepped away from the wall and squared his shoulders. Though she seemed pale and fragile in an oversized robe, her eyes sparked with determination.

Reverend Fielding noticed her and rushed to his sister's side. "Laurie, what are you doing out here? Go back to bed."

" _I_ didn't say she could get up," McCoy put in.

Lauren looked exasperated. "Listen, I'm fine, really. Just give me a scanner

and—"

"Absolutely not!" McCoy hustled her into a chair and waved a finger of warning at her nose. "Stay right there, understand? One move and it's back you go."

"I will watch her," Spock offered mildly.

With a glare that encompassed them both, McCoy stalked back to his other patients. The reverend's concern for his sister was evident on his face. "Laurie, you really shouldn't be—"

"Oh, hush!" she interrupted. "Who's the doctor here, anyhow? Quit fussing over me and go do what you can for those kids."

Muttering, her brother walked away and Spock was alone with Doctor Fielding. From his position standing near her, he covertly observed her disarranged braid and her slender arms crossed stubbornly across her middle. For the first time he noticed a dusting of freckles across her pale nose and decided that he liked them.

"Perhaps," he carefully suggested, "it would be best if you returned to bed. You are not yet fully recovered. Your presence here will only tire you and burden Doctor McCoy with more worry."

She turned in her seat and skewered him with a sharp look.

Spock pulled up another chair and sat beside her. "Then again," he said, eyes straight ahead, "as a physician you surely know your own physical limits. And Doctor McCoy will worry, no matter where you are."

There was no further conversation. Despite McCoy's efforts, the children continued to fade. Reverend Fielding and the adult Gammans made way for nurses who circled constantly, checking monitors and making delicate adjustments.

As if to herself Doctor Fielding said, "I can't stand this. They couldn't help what they did to us. They shouldn't have to suffer." Spock turned and found her looking at him with a troubled expression. "Captain…do you remember anything? I mean, from when we were under?"

Spock thought of the shy yet fierce little girl who had always seemed to take his side, even when he would have preferred to stand alone. Hesitantly he said, "I…dreamt I was a child."

A monitor alarm went off, and then another. The children were suffering multiple organ failures. Life support immediately substituted for the lost functions, but no amount of technology could halt the decline in brain activity. Doctor McCoy stood watching, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Spock left his chair and went over to him.

"We're losing them," McCoy said wearily, "every blessed one."

Spock looked at the nearest child. Under the glowing support unit, Bird-in-Flight lay deathly still, the silvery sheen of his skin dulled to a damp, somber gray. Spock forced himself to consider the only approach that had not yet been tried. "Doctor," he said quietly, "if I could explore his mind, perhaps…"

McCoy sighed. "Thanks, Spock. But this time it really is too risky, and you know it."

Spock nodded at the truth in McCoy's words. It was unwise to join even an ordinary mind near death, but the altered minds of these children might well act instinctively to any probing, pulling him back under in order to save themselves. Yet it was not in Spock's nature to avoid risk when innocent lives were at stake. "A careful mind touch," he persisted, "properly applied—"

"Doctor!"

The urgency in the nurse's voice drew everyone's attention to bed three, where a red light flashed ominously on the monitor. Cloudshadow was brain dead.

McCoy started toward her, pausing just long enough to warn Spock, "Don't let me catch you touching any of these kids."

Spock's mouth pressed into a grim line as he watched McCoy and his assistants respond to the lights of death flashing all over the ward. There was nothing anyone could do now. The children were gone. There remained only the sad task of releasing their spent bodies from the life support systems. And the grieving.

He turned. His eyes sought out Lauren Fielding's chair and found it empty.

ooooo

Hanging on by a thread of control, Lauren ducked into the storeroom and left the lights low. She would _not_ break down. Alone here, she could reason with herself and ease away the tightness in her throat and chest. No one would ever know that she—a trained physician—had almost fallen apart at the sight of death. _But children dying!_

Blinking back tears, she searched the shadows for a place to sit down and rest. Every shelf, every crate, seemed to take on a ghostly human shape. She knew, of course, that Wintercloud was not really here, nor was Flutecalling. They were only tricks of her mind, cruel illusions born of physical weakness and overwrought emotions.

A sound startled her. She whirled and found the door open, a tall figure silhouetted by the light from an adjacent lab. "Who's there…?" she blurted, guessing his identity even as she spoke.

"Spock," his voice answered, nothing more.

He moved a step closer and the door slid shut behind him, cutting off the glare so that now she could dimly see his face.

He said, "Are you alright?"

"Yes sir," she lied, thinking that he would leave. But he didn't. Of course not. He had made a promise to Doctor McCoy. Drawing a shaky breath, she said, "Captain, I…I'm not going to pass out or anything. You don't need to watch me anymore."

Coming nearer he said, "Perhaps physically you are well enough…"

Taken by surprise, Lauren stared at him. In the midst of everything that was happening, why would a Vulcan—the captain of the Enterprise—cue in on her emotional state? She felt all her grief rushing to the surface and there was no stopping it. "I called them _monsters_. You remember it, don't you? It wasn't a dream. You were _there_. It really happened, and now they're gone…" Her voice choked off.

"Lauren," he said softly.

He had never spoken her first name before, nor used so tender a tone. They stood face to face in the shadows and she could almost see his mind working. Something deep in his eyes made her heart pound as he said, "Yes…perhaps it really did happen. If so, we were none of us at our best."

True, it had been different then, but knowing that did not change the way Lauren felt now. "I'd like to get my hands on those Donaris!"

Spock accepted the outburst with very little change of expression. "Revenge?"

"Justice."

One slanted eyebrow rose. "A worthy desire. And let us also hope for a permanent, peaceful solution to the Sy-Don conflict." He extended a hand, though not far enough to invite her touch. "Come now. Let's see if Doctor McCoy will discharge you to your quarters."

The words seemed so solicitous that Lauren blushed. Then she nodded and followed him out the door.

ooooo

"Jim, I don't care what Nogura or anyone else says." McCoy paused just long enough to drain his glass of Kentucky bourbon—obviously not the first of the evening. "After this so-called 'training cruise', what you need is a chance to unwind, a good old-fashioned dose of R&R. It'll make you feel years younger."

Secure in the comfort of his quarters, Kirk settled back into the soft chair cushions and propped his boots atop the game table in front of him. "Younger, did you say? No, thanks. I like my age just fine—aches and pains and all." He cast an uneasy glance at the Vulcan seated nearby. Lost in his own thoughts, Spock missed the look entirely.

But McCoy noticed and turned on Kirk, glaring. "Dammit, there you go again. Ever since you people got your minds free from those Gammans, it's been nothing but sidelong glances and little double entendres. What the heck happened when you were under? Why all the ever-lovin' mystery?"

Kirk barely restrained himself from casting another "sidelong glance". Maybe someday he would tell McCoy everything, but not now, not yet, when the thought of that humiliating interlude made him want to squirm. Feeling decidedly underhanded he said, "Bones, we were comatose. What could have possibly happened?"

"Alright, that does it!" McCoy rose angrily. "Jim, how can you just sit there and spout that crap?"

The outburst roused Spock, who cocked a disapproving eyebrow at the doctor. McCoy retaliated with a tipsy jab of his finger. "And then there's you! Damned closed-mouth Vulcan, always doing what you damn well please! Now I suppose _you're_ gonna try and lie to me, too? Go ahead, tell me nothing happened!"

Spock just stared at the doctor.

Embarrassed, Kirk pulled his feet off the table and sat up. "Bones, come on. Why don't you go get some sleep?"

"Oh sure," McCoy shot back sarcastically. "Trundle me off to bed so you two can have a nice chuckle about everything that didn't happen!"

" _Bones_."

McCoy ignored the plea in Kirk's voice and stalked out the door. An awkward hush settled over the room. After a while Kirk said, "I don't know what got into him." His eyes traveled to the liquor glass McCoy had left behind. "Then again, maybe I do."

Spock, too, looked at the empty glass. "Perhaps you should have told him."

Kirk suffered a fresh stab of guilt. "Maybe." He might have said, _hey, I didn't notice you volunteering any information, either._ But it occurred to him that Spock hadn't said much of anything about anything lately. During their return trip the Vulcan had been spending most of his free time behind closed doors, probably in meditation. At least that was how Kirk had found him earlier tonight when he stopped by Spock's cabin to invite him here. A puzzled frown creased his brow as he studied his inscrutable friend. "Spock, you're being awfully quiet these days."

The Vulcan stirred. There was a minute, indefinable softening of his expression. "I was thinking," he said unexpectedly, "that Doctor McCoy would do well to follow his own advice—about rest and recreation. Remember, he lost someone who was very dear to him on this voyage."

"'Physician heal thyself'," Kirk quoted, "but I wouldn't suggest saying that to his face. When we reach Spacedock, someone ought to whisk him off somewhere relaxing."

Spock regarded him intently. "Someone, you say."

"Uh-uh, not me. And definitely not you. What he needs is a person like…" he threw out the first name that came to mind, "like Chris Chapel. I'm sure _she_ could use some time away, too. Things were chilly enough in sickbay even before—" Too late Kirk realized he had strayed upon the touchy subject of Lauren Fielding. Though Spock seemed to have reconsidered his attitude toward her, Kirk was reluctant to test it.

"Yes, Chapel clearly resents Doctor Fielding," Spock reflected, to Kirk's surprise. "It is a difficult circumstance—one which puts me in a very uncomfortable position. But if the conflict cannot be resolved, I may need to transfer one of them."

Kirk twisted the signet ring on his finger. An "uncomfortable position" put it a bit too mildly. He could not believe the Vulcan was openly discussing such a delicate matter. Since Chapel had seniority, he assumed, "So you'd let Fielding go."

"After Mega Morbidus, she brought up the possibility herself."

Kirk leaned forward. "And you _denied_ it? I would have thought…" As he held the captain's dark gaze, an intriguing idea stirred deep in Kirk's mind. _No,_ _it can't be._ He had never known the Vulcan to consort with any woman aboard ship. But what was it that Spock sometimes said? _For everything there is a first time._ And not for the first time, Kirk looked at his friend and wondered.


End file.
